Sailing by Gemini's Star: The Constellation Trilogy, #3

By Katie Crabb

Even legends must answer to an empire.

 

Every sailor must answer to the sea.

 

Trapped in the clutches of his past when he's taken back to Kingston, René Delacroix must face the city where Lucifer the Morning Star was born. Danso sails toward Jamaica like a shooting star with a story held tight between his fingers. Jerome clashes with the chosen brother he wishes he didn't love. The specter of the noose haunts Michel's every step as he brokers backdoor deals to save his son.

 

But power waits in the shadows, and that power's name is Andrew Travers. 

 

The swords of fated souls cross. Questions of loyalty stir. Questions of right and wrong and redemption. The long-awaited battle between pirates and pirate hunters explodes to life, and with a single gunshot, nothing will ever be the same again.

 

As England creeps closer to Nassau and the pirates are forced to decide what matters most, the beating heart of history asks a question.

 

Who will tell the tale?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Crabb
• Release date: Jun 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798985563870

Katie Crabb

Katie is a librarian and activist by day, a writer of historical fiction by night, and a lover of musicals always. You can usually find her talking about Les Mis, pirates, Paris, and anything to do with The Phantom of the Opera. Her work focuses on queerness, challenging historical narratives, what makes up a family, and the space between grief and resilience. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

Aboard the Navigator. July 1716.

René Delacroix hasn’t uttered a prayer since ....

Well, not since he was a little boy desperate for his grandfather’s mercy. He never got it. So, he quit praying.

As the sun shines on a sailor’s silver crucifix, he has half a thought to start again.

Four days.

It’s only been four days since René found himself a prisoner on the ship he once called home. Since his father arrested him. Since the risk he took went south—to say the least.

He remembers the night. The darkness. The ting of Jerome’s blade as he pulled it from the sheath. A cold, cruel cutlass against his neck. Marc and Eli running, forced to leave him, Frantz, and Auden behind. He recalls the sight of the Saiph getting away in the darkness, lit up like a ghost in the moonlight. The crew is safe. That’s what matters.

Today’s the first time he’s been allowed out of his father’s quarters, and thank God for that, because he couldn’t take one more second of being cooped up with Michel Delacroix and his guilt. A deep breath of fresh air cools some of his pent-up rage. The water soothes him. Precautions are in place for this small freedom, of course. Jerome stands a short distance away keeping an eye out. Michel, apparently too busy to bother, is back in his cabin with Lieutenant Rollins. René has half a mind to make a break for wherever they’re keeping Frantz and Auden. He could at least make the attempt to see how they’re doing. No, not right now. Jerome is paying too much attention. René rests his manacled wrists on the rail. The Navigator glides through the water with ease and speed, a far cry from the rough seas and choppy winds of the past two days.

He doesn’t regret his choice to go to Tortola and sell their stolen rum. That got money for the men. It got them the shot and gunpowder Danso and Abeni needed, and he owes them that. He owes them everything. Danso and Abeni will come. He knows they will.

Part of him wishes they wouldn’t.

They would hate that he even had the thought. Reprimand him for it. So, instead of having a go at himself, he tries to remember how radically they love him.

If anyone can get in and out of Kingston Harbor, it’s Ajani Danso and Abeni.

Kingston tastes like a curse on his tongue. Kingston is nothing but betrayal and rotted dreams. The only thing there worth a damn is his mother. His mother, and Uncle Arthur’s grave.

Nearby voices interrupt his musings. Two of Jerome’s men—young ensigns both—are whispering overloud to each other and looking in his direction. One of Michel’s sailors stands close, pointedly ignoring the whispers and looking at René with some concern.

The pirate thinks he can take the air with the rest of us, it seems, one of the ensigns says, side-eyeing René and not even bothering with the pretense of lowering his voice. I suppose you can do whatever the hell you like and get off scot-free if you’re Michel Delacroix’s son. He probably won’t get more than a slap on the wrist, will he?

René holds onto the rail until his knuckles pop white. Losing his temper will only serve him ill. Jerome doesn’t hear them yet. René has no doubt he’d be stalking over toward them already if he had.

He learned from that Danso pirate, the second one says with dripping disdain, noticing René’s irritation. The so-called Robin Hood. That worthless blackguard deserves the rope for doing what he did to Captain Benjamin and his boys. And that quartermaster of his does too, woman or not.

René grasps the rail harder.

Don’t rise to the bait.

Don’t. Rise.

Speaking of women, the first one continues. I think—

Mr. Lee, the sailor René noticed earlier cuts in. Let’s not start a fight.

You don’t tell me what to do, MacMillan. The ensign jabs a finger in the air toward the man from Michel’s crew. He turns back around and looks straight at René. "I was just going to say, I wonder what sort of whore mothers the Devil himself? Or, excuse me, the Morning Star. He gestures at René, and even the other ensign looks nervous now. Maybe he’s not the commodore’s son at all. Maybe he’s just the good-for-nothing bastard of some affair that Astra Delacroix couldn’t wait to be rid of."

His mother’s words from the night he ran away resound in René’s head, and he feels her hand slipping from his.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

"Mr. Lee, that is quite enough! Jerome shouts as he strides over. You are out of bounds."

Jerome’s words barely register. Every thought in René’s brain goes blank and buzzing until there is nothing left but sharp, screeching fury. His good sense doesn’t win out.

The Morning Star does.

Lee backs up as René stalks toward him, his eyes wide with fear.

René’s double-fisted blow connects with Lee’s jaw. Not as hard as Lee deserved, but hard enough that he stumbles.

Jerome seizes René around the waist before René even heard or saw him coming. René elbows Jerome in the ribs, hard, and this sets him free again.

Not for long.

Jerome yanks René by the back of his coat with a burst of not-unexpected strength. René goes crashing to the deck because the goddamn manacles keep throwing off his balance. Jerome shoves René down flat with one boot on René’s chest and the other pressed snugly against his side. René can’t summon the energy to fight, and there’s nowhere to go, besides. He’s barely eaten the food Michel put in front of him. Sleep hasn’t come in anything other than fits and starts.

Calm down. He needs to calm down.

He feels more like the rash boy who ran from Kingston rather than the adult he’s become, but then, some part of him has always been burning.

Jerome unsheathes his cutlass, and the sharp point of it hovers over René’s neck.

Do not move a muscle, Jerome growls. I’m serious, you little brat.

Quiet falls. Every eye, every ear, is trained on Jerome.

Thank you, sir, Lee finally says, rubbing at his jaw.

Not another word from you or Mr. Adams. Jerome doesn’t spare his officers a glance. The two of you intentionally provoked a prisoner and insulted Commodore Delacroix’s wife. You will answer for it.

But, sir, Lee complains with a whine, "he’s a pirate."

Jerome angles his head to glare at Lee, and that throbbing vein in his forehead signals danger. "I don’t care what he is, Mr. Lee. This is insubordination. I did not give you permission to speak to the prisoner. I did not give you permission to be near him. You will be quiet immediately, or the punishment will be more severe."

How they might answer for it, René can guess.

Firm, hurried footsteps echo across the deck. The crowd parts to make way for Michel and Lieutenant Rollins.

Space, if you please, gents, Rollins calls out. Stand aside.

"What in the blazes is going on?" Michel asks, his gaze darting around so that René’s not entirely sure who exactly is supposed to answer the question. Finally, Michel settles on Jerome, raising his eyebrows in question.

I’m afraid to say that the prisoner tried to attack Mr. Lee and Mr. Adams. Jerome inclines his head toward the two guilty officers. After they provoked him and spoke to him without permission from any senior officer. Unfortunately, I had to subdue him.

I have a name, René spits.

Be quiet. Not another word from you. Michel nods at Jerome. Let’s get him up.

Prisoner.

Him.

You.

Not René. Just a pirate.

It hurts more than he bargained for to hear his father and Jerome strip him of his identity. Jerome treating him like this is one thing, but his father has never sneered at him like that before. No matter the necessary theater of this moment, the severity cuts René to the quick. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t matter what his father thinks or does.

Jerome sheathes his sword while Michel hauls René up from the deck.

If you wouldn’t mind explaining a bit further, Captain Jerome, Michel says, taking a tight hold of René’s collar.

I didn’t hear it all. Jerome shoots a nasty look at Lee and Adams. But I realized that Mr. Lee and Mr. Adams were provoking the prisoner—partially, I’m afraid, by insulting Mrs. Delacroix—which caused him to attack them. Mr. MacMillan heard more, I believe.

I ... yes, sir. MacMillan folds his hands behind his back. I did.

Michel’s expression softens just a touch. If you could tell us what you heard, I would be most appreciative. I can assure you that there will be no retribution from anyone on Captain Jerome’s crew.

A wave of relief passes across MacMillan’s face at this. I overheard Mr. Lee and Mr. Adams talking about—Macmillan pauses, struggling for what term of address to use—the pirate. They were saying that he’d probably get away with a slap on the wrist because he was your boy. Macmillan winces here, but Michel remains impassive as he listens. That Danso and that quartermaster of his would see the rope, no doubt, and that they’d deserve it. And then they ... well, they called your wife a name I would rather not repeat, if you please, sir. They implied that maybe the lad isn’t your son at all.

Red mottles Michel’s cheeks in a rare sign of outward temper. Thank you, Macmillan. I appreciate how truthful you were. He rounds on Lee and Adams, his blue eyes little more than snake slits. You are not my officers, but we are allied together for a common cause, and I expect better of any man on Captain Jerome’s crew. I certainly know he does not tolerate this sort of behavior.

Lee averts his eyes.

You will look at me when I address you, Mr. Lee, Michel snaps. Neither of you will ever speak about my wife again in that manner. You will not interfere with a prisoner aboard this ship, or I will tell Admiral Adams that you will no longer be a part of this coalition. Am I understood?

Yes, Commodore Delacroix, both men say.

Michel nods a second time and addresses René next. As you cannot be trusted to come on deck without trouble, we will not repeat this exercise again.

René bites his lip against the impulse to argue. There’s no point, and he’ll need any energy he can spare for things that matter.

I defer to you, Captain Jerome, Michel says. They’re your men.

Jerome answers swiftly and without hesitation. A dozen lashes apiece to be administered immediately, if you please, Mr. Davies.

Jerome beckons another of his crewmen over. Several of the Chase’s men are sailing home on the Navigator. In hindsight, that hasn’t served anyone very well.  Several of the Navigator’s crew assist in the process of tying the men to either side of the mainmast. The Chase is close enough by that René can see small knots of sailors gathered by the rail of Jerome’s ship trying to see what’s going on.

The ensigns’ shirts are removed. The officer Jerome named calls in one of his mates so they might deliver the lashes at the same time. The two cat-o-nine-tails appear even more ominous than usual in the tainted twilight. Pirates don’t abide by this type of punishment—too many of them endured it on ships like these—so it has been quite some time since René witnessed a flogging.

The men gather in closer together—which leaves Michel and René alone at the back of the crowd.

From what I recall, you were not a firm believer in floggings like some of your fellow captains, René whispers severely in Michel’s ear. Changed your mind, have you?

They are not my officers, Michel replies, and René gets the sense that he doesn’t agree with the punishment. They are Nicholas’ men, and he must do as he sees fit. Quiet now.

I’ll count, Jerome says from the front of the knot of sailors. Begin.

Jerome keeps the count to himself, but the numbers resound inside René’s head as the cat cracks through the air.

One.

Two. 

Three. 

The sound of the cord smacking across the bare skin of both men makes René nauseated. This isn’t even just about pain. It’s about humiliation, and that’s worse. For a moment, he’s transported back to the day his grandfather caned him until his legs bled.  To the whack of the wooden implement. To the shame welling in his chest.

Four. 

One of the men whimpers, and the other follows not long after. Their skin is already lacerated from the lash. Blood smears the knotted cotton strips. No wonder they have to replace them every time. 

Five.

Both ensigns cry out. The sea swallows their shouts.

Six.

René thinks of the flogging scars his friends bear. Slaves. Convicts. Former naval officers and merchant sailors. They all fell subject to the same punishments because some powerful men said that was right.

Seven.

A thin river of scarlet runs down the men's backs. René hit one of those men earlier, but he didn’t want this. He’s spent years fighting against the navy precisely for things like this. The punch was clean combat. This is cruelty.

Eight.

Nine.

Jerome looks back toward Michel and René. His gaze lingers, and it isn’t angry anymore. It’s ... René couldn’t say, exactly.

Ten.

Michel’s sharp intake of breath entwines with both ensigns shouting in agony. The words please stop burst from Lee's mouth, and a moment from René’s childhood comes hurtling back. An afternoon when his grandfather slapped him twice in succession and then a third time just after Jerome came in the front door. Please stop, René's twelve-year-old self pleaded. Please, Grandfather.

Elev....

Jerome’s abrupt halt interrupts René’s mental count. That’s it. Cut them down.

The two men administering the lashes look at Jerome in mild confusion before doing as ordered. If anyone else notices the lack of the last two lashes, they don’t say anything. Crisscrossed wounds cut across Lee’s and Adams’ backs. Red stains the wood beneath their feet.

Back to the cabin.

Michel speaks before René can fully contemplate Jerome’s look and the abrupt, premature end to the punishment. It was only two short, but that’s quite a lot for Jerome. He probably took the number of lashes from an explicit section in the naval code.

There’s no need to be upset, Michel says once they’re back in the cabin. Those men needed to understand that what they did was wrong.

René heaves himself onto the hammock bed. There’s no need for you to tell me how to feel. Actually, there’s no need for you to talk to me at all.

René—

Michel’s attempt at consolation is thwarted when Jerome knocks and enters the cabin without waiting for an answer.

You rash brat! Jerome shouts, earning raised eyebrows from Michel. Going after my officers like that. How dare you?

René folds one knee up against his chest. "They can say nasty things about me all they like, but I will not tolerate anyone saying nasty things about my mother. Clearly, you think they deserved some punishment if you were willing to have them flogged."

They needed to be disciplined. Jerome swipes his hand through the air. Not that you would know anything about that with your damned thieving rogues. Learned how to captain from Danso, did you? I’m sure he’s soft and lets them run wild.

You saw my crew, Jerome, René argues. Did it look like we had a discipline problem? But I shouldn’t expect any different from you. What was it you said to me once? Obedience breeds peace?  

Michel pulls his chair out so that it scrapes against the floor, and this silences Jerome and René both.

Apologies for the outburst, Michel, Jerome says as he steps further into the cabin. It has been a trying evening.

Michel drums his fingers on the desk. Yes. To say the least.

The bells go off—a familiar sound for René. Soothing. A few men will be on the dog watch now, and the rest at supper.

You need to eat, René, Michel chides. You barely ate anything this morning, and you can’t go on like this.

René is, admittedly, famished. He remembers too well the gnawing pain of hunger when he was on the run with Frantz and Auden, and he doesn’t care to relive that. Jerome pressed him to the deck without even trying. Heading to Kingston means facing his grandfather at some point or another. He’ll need his strength for that.

I’ll eat, he says, and this brightens his father’s mood.

I’ll go fetch it myself, Michel replies. Normally, they bring it to me, but I’ll go see if the cook is done early. Do stay if you don’t mind, Jerome? We’ll eat together. I’ll see about Frantz and Auden on my way.

Then, something occurs to René.

Where is Peter? he asks.

Peter has taken care of his father’s everyday needs since René was small, both at home and at sea. Usually, this also involves coordinating meals with the Navigator’s cook.

Michel tilts his head in response to this curiosity. I left him at home this time, because Molly had been quite ill and needed his assistance. They married several years ago.

Oh. I didn’t know.

How could you have? Michel asks with a bite of bitterness. I’ll return shortly.

One minute you’ve got your sword at my throat and the next we’re eating together, René mutters in Jerome’s general direction once his father is gone. How the tide has turned.

Jerome scowls before sitting down in the spare chair and pulling a small sketchpad out of his coat pocket. I see you’ve picked up some of Frantz’s sarcasm. I’ll do whatever I can to make this easier on your father. You certainly won’t.

René crosses his arms over his chest. You think I hate him, but I don’t. I’m angry. It’s not the same thing.

Jerome doesn’t answer. He flips to a fresh page in his pad, and René catches sight of a small drawing of the constellation Gemini on the one previous—likely drawn in late winter or early spring. Castor and Pollux, the mythical brothers, are distinctly marked.

It’s been René’s favorite constellation ever since the night they played together.

Outside, the stars shine melancholy. They soften the hard lines in Jerome’s face. They soften René’s heart.

Maybe it might do him a little good to pray to them. To the spirit of the little boy he once was.

Maybe that little boy will help him where he’s going.

Chapter 2

Aboard the Misericorde. The Caribbean Sea.

The night enfolds Abeni in a velvet embrace.

The Saiph sails just up ahead of the Misericorde. The consort ship might as well be a ghost in the glancing moonlight. She’s missing three precious souls just like Abeni is.

Her captain.

Her quartermaster.

And her navigator.

Abeni knew in her bones that they would face Delacroix and Jerome one day. This does little to ease the pinch in her chest. They can save those boys. She knows they can, but this waiting is damn well about to drive her mad.

She thinks of the day René was voted captain of the Saiph. She remembers the sun in his hair and how he smiled bright as a boy. She remembers Frantz sliding his hands across the wheel like he was born to stand right there. She remembers Auden cheering and pulling Flora into a warm grin of a kiss. They looked out upon their family then, she and Danso, and both of them knew they’d built something strong.

A familiar hand comes to rest over hers. Flora. Flora is there wearing the necklace Auden gave her. Abeni found her crying earlier. Sobbing, really. Auden’s life is, without a doubt, in danger. Not that René and Frantz are anything like safe, but Auden ... well, Delacroix could use him to bargain for the other two. Flora’s heart, bold and bright on most days, is broken right now. For the love of her life. For the other two young men who are like brothers to her.

So, Abeni stands there with her daughter and wishes she could take that pain away. Danso should be out here. Danso is inside his cabin fretting instead. Granted, there is much to fret about this time.

We’ll get them back, Abeni says after an unknowable amount of time passes. I swear to you, darling. On my life.

Flora shakes her head. Don’t swear on your life, Mama. Please. Swear on something else.

I’ll just swear, then. Abeni tries to smile for her daughter. For herself. Is Danso in his cabin?

Flora smiles too, and it makes that awful pinch in Abeni’s chest ease. Mhmm. At his desk looking at maps of Kingston Harbor.

I’ll have to remind him to sleep, later.

"And I’ll have to remind you. Eli told me to make sure you did. Not that I needed telling."

They watch the sky together for a while. Abeni doesn’t know how long, exactly. Time is a mystery when you’re sailing at night and can barely tell the difference between sea and sky.

Mama, look!

Flora points up as a streak of light dashes across the blue-black heavens in a dazzling spray of silver.

A shooting star.

A sign. A thing to pray to, maybe, even if she isn’t exactly the praying kind. No, not praying. Wishing? No. Not wishing either. A vow. She’s making a vow to find those three boys that are her own.

She and Danso are good at that. Finding people.

The star disappears into the infinite vastness around them. Flora kisses her cheek and gestures in the direction of the captain’s cabin. Abeni enters without knocking, and Danso barely glances up when she comes inside. She can’t help but smile at the sight of his spectacles slid halfway down his nose as he studies maps that he already knows by heart. His legend lights up the room more than the lanterns do, but all Abeni can see is the worried father cut open by his past.

To get the better of Kingston, they’ll need both.

She comes around to his chair and rests one hand on his shoulder.

You don’t have to do anything alone, she says, and she’s sure that her love for Danso could ignite every star in the sky. Remember?

He startles a touch, then squeezes her fingers in a way that says, I remember, before pushing one of the maps toward her without a word.

She thinks of her vow. She rolls up her sleeves.

And she helps her dearest friend sort out how they’re going to save their children.

Chapter 3

Kingston, Jamaica.

Once they reach Kingston , it falls to Jerome to retrieve Frantz and Auden from Rollins’ quarters—Michel is busy wrangling a difficult René.

Captain Jerome?

Jerome turns to find Michel’s long-time boatswain, Prescott, standing there with his hands folded too tight. He learned a great deal from Prescott when he first joined Michel’s crew. Jerome respects him quite a lot, but he has little time for questions right now.

Something the matter, Mr. Prescott? Jerome asks, pulling out the key to the cabin.

No, Prescott says, looking hesitant. It’s just ... it’s not my place, but we’ve known each other a long while, you and I, and I thought I might ask after what’s going to happen to the young lads? A lot of the men who’ve been sailing with the commodore for a long time are all asking me. They remember René, you know, running across the deck with his sword. Playing by himself. He was so shy until you came around. You, and Frantz and Auden.

Prescott’s words evoke memories that Jerome has no wish to entertain, but he can at least speak more freely with Prescott than with the general crew. René is no longer a child, and treating him or Frantz gently in this situation is unlikely to serve any of us well. I’m afraid Commodore Delacroix’s plans are private right now, but I do know that he appreciates you helping handle the men while this is going on.

Jerome’s tone indicates the conversation is over, and Prescott walks away with a soft of course. Jerome unlocks the cabin door before closing it quickly behind him.

Well, if it isn’t the gallant naval officer himself, Auden says as soon as Jerome comes in. Arrived to escort the villainous pirates.

Be quiet, Jerome replies. Be grateful you aren’t in the brig.

Certainly something to be grateful for. Frantz narrows his eyes at Jerome, but he doesn’t resist the shackles. I’d ask if you were preparing the noose, but I’m certain there’s something far more sinister up your sleeve.

Enough, Frantz! Jerome raises his voice, his temper quickly disintegrating. You had best thank your damn lucky stars that you’re in this position.

"I can’t do that, because I know why I’m in this position, and I know some of my friends won’t be so lucky if you catch them, Frantz shoots back as Jerome ushers them out the door. If I were anyone else, I’d be dead by sunset tomorrow."

Jerome ignores him as the sailors clear a path. Some whisper under their breath. Some just stare. Jerome’s glad they arrived near nightfall, or they’d have more bystanders gaping at them in the harbor. René pulls against his father’s grasp when they approach.

Are you all right? René asks, stepping closer to his friends when Michel finally gives up and lets him go.

Back off, René. Jerome gets in the way, and that familiar fear he’s felt ever since he saw the scarf fall away from René’s face roars to life. Fear of what, he’s not entirely certain. Fear of the remaining dregs of affection he has for the boy. Fear of the boy himself and what’s he’s capable of. Fear of the instability he senses in Michel. Fear that he will displease his superiors, and, if he listens to the small, quiet voices in the back of his head, fear of the choices they’ll ask him to make.

"You back off, René says, anger punching up beneath his words. You’ve captured me. The least you can do is let me speak to my friends."

It matters because you are to do as your father says, Jerome snaps.

I’m afraid I don’t require an older brother to tell me what to do, René says, and the smirk on his face says that he knows those words hurt. You—

Enough, Michel interrupts, looking between the two of them. This is not the place.

Why not? Frantz asks, his words coiled and threatening to strike.

Frantz, Michel tries, reaching out toward Frantz’s shoulder.

Frantz moves away. Don’t touch me.

The sound of firm footsteps derails any further conversation. Admiral Adams strides up, and Jerome wishes there had been another moment or two to collect themselves. The gold buttons and decoration on the admiral’s immaculate blue coat gleam in the sunlight. He puts his hands behind his back and frowns at the trio before focusing on Michel and Jerome.

Well, it would appear that the rumors around the harbor are true—you caught Robin Hood’s consort ship in Tortola. Admiral Adams surveys René with a satisfied sneer Jerome isn’t sure he’s seen him wear before. Is this your son, Michel? Lucifer the Morning Star, isn’t it?

Yes. Michel inches closer to René. It seems I should have listened to Captain Jerome’s suspicions earlier. He gives René a stern glance that serves to have no impact on the stubborn boy. But I didn’t want to believe the truth.

Admiral Adams walks over to stand in front of René. Jerome has excellent instincts. I’m not surprised he had a hunch before the rest of us.

Jerome wants to say thank you. He wants to take time to be honored by the kind words, but there’s no time for that with René’s nonsense.

The admiral looks René directly in the eyes. Jerome has to give René credit—he doesn’t flinch even in the face of the head of the Kingston naval fleet.

I heard you were a troublemaker as a child, Admiral Adams continues. It seems you've taken that a bit further than expected. Half-destroying Captain Benjamin’s ship. Stealing from God knows how many merchants. Ruining the fort in Barbados. You must hold quite a place in that court of pirates on your so-called republic. I assure you it means nothing here.

René remains impassive. Silent. Annoyance flashes across Admiral Adams’ countenance, and he grasps René's face. Hard. Michel clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t protest.

Care to tell me when Danso and his slave woman quartermaster might come for you? Admiral Adams asks. I’d say pirates are too selfish to mount a rescue, but I’ve seen otherwise with your lot.

René only glares, breathing, perhaps, a bit harder than normal, but giving nothing else away.

Admiral Adams grasps René’s face yet tighter, angrier than Jerome’s seen him since they received the news about Captain Benjamin’s ship. If we didn't need you to draw Danso in, and if you were not as well-connected as you are, I would send you to trial and then Gallows Point in a matter of days, boy. I would suggest you not test me. He lets go and gives René a small shove as he does so.

Michel clenches his jaw again, and though Admiral Adams doesn't notice, Jerome does.

To think your father and Captain Jerome invested such time and effort in teaching you, Admiral Adams says, only for you to throw it to such a sinister use.

René bites his lip—likely against a sharp remark—and Admiral Adams walks up to Frantz instead, whose glare is just as potent.

Arthur Seymour’s boy. Another apple fallen from the tree, I see. Although, I suppose—Admiral Adams lingers here—"Arthur did have ... marks on his record."

Admiral, Michel interrupts. I was hoping to get two carriages back to my home. I would prefer not to have passerby staring. I was thinking I might keep them locked up there until we can sort this out. And until my father-in-law arrives back from New York, which should be in a few days. I’ve sent a note ahead to my driver James, but I’ll need a second carriage.

Of course, the admiral says, turning his gaze on Auden now as he gestures at one of his nearby officers, who goes running for a second carriage. He raises one eyebrow. You’re the Carlisle boy, are you?

Yeah, Auden says, apparently unimpressed, and the first of the three to speak—no surprise there. What’s it to you?

Admiral? Michel asks just as Admiral Adams’ cheeks flush scarlet. It’s impeccable timing on Michel’s part. Jerome’s sure that Michel’s learned to spot an imminent bad temper from dealing with Andrew Travers. I’d like to speak privately a moment, if you don’t mind.

They summon a few officers to guard the trio and step off to the side out of earshot.

I was considering sending a few of my own men over to assist with the guard, Admiral Adams says. Stationed outside the house, most likely, with your own inside, since I’m sure your wife would be more comfortable with that situation.

Michel nods in agreement. My apologies for their behavior. I’m afraid I may have underestimated the extent to which my son and Frantz’s minds have been warped by these pirates. I am not excusing their actions, but I am concerned for René’s mental state. Some of his behavior on the voyage back was deeply troubling to me. He also wouldn’t tell me exactly how they came into contact with Danso and Abeni.

Admiral Adams tilts his head. You think perhaps they were coerced?

Jerome looks between them as they discuss the idea. Is that the tack Michel is taking? It’s not his place to interfere if this assists with the deal Michel wishes to strike, but he does worry for Michel if he believes René was forced into piracy. Jerome doesn’t believe it for a second. He also doesn’t believe that René is mad in the way Michel means. Perhaps Michel will discuss it with him later. If not, he will bring it up himself.

"I think the pirates who found them took advantage of who they found and purposefully turned them against me and against Captain Jerome, Michel says. Imagine stumbling across René and Frantz and realizing that they were connected to me and to the governor of Jamaica? Fiends like that wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. The boys were angry at me, and I’m certain the pirates had no issue noticing as much. I intend to have a doctor examine them to see if there’s any physical reason for this behavior, or if it’s the terrible result of their time with these villains."

Something of that nature would make it easier to avoid a death sentence for your son and the Seymour boy, Admiral Adams replies. This is no simple matter, I’ll be frank with you, but if I were to discuss things with the magistrate and the governor, this idea that three young men from—he pauses, eyes lingering on Frantz—"mostly upstanding backgrounds were driven mad by pirates, it would help take care of any public outcry should we manage to reach an agreement. It’s something to tell the papers, you know. That sort of thing sells and keeps them out of our business."

The lack of a concrete agreement to spare the boys the noose makes the color recede from Michel’s face, and Jerome is sure he’s never seen him so out of sorts in public.

I understand, Michel manages to say. I’m happy to meet with the magistrate, the governor, and yourself as soon as possible.

The crunch of carriage wheels cuts off their conversation, and Jerome spots James, the Delacroix’s driver, coming toward them.

Do you think Danso’s crew will come? Admiral Adams asks. There must be examples, and I think it would be found more acceptable to spare these boys a capital sentence if Danso and his quartermaster are done away with. They inspired enough of the current pirates for that to have a chilling effect.

If I know anything about Danso and Abeni, Jerome answers, they will come, sir. They are arrogant enough to march right into the jaws of their enemies. We’ve seen it.

It would sate the appetite of the public if they were made an example of, Admiral Adams adds. And hopefully stamp out any sympathies.

Before we depart, Michel says as the second carriage arrives, I’d just like to commend Nicholas. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without his assistance.

Admiral Adams’ stoic expression breaks as a smile comes through, but there’s something in it that makes Jerome uncomfortable. He can’t put words to it just yet.

Jerome stands by as Michel puts the boys in the carriages with the help of some of his officers. Frantz and Auden go in one and René in the other.

They have to break the chain linking René with piracy. They have to lure Danso in. They have to. Whatever Michel’s protests, it’s Jerome’s fault that René is a pirate. He let Danso and Abeni escape from him. He let René escape from him. He will correct those errors now. Permanently. Michel will have his son and Frantz back, and Danso will be dead.

Danso will be dead.

Why does that make him feel so strange?

Danso sparing his life means nothing. He likes to play games. Hold that power over Jerome. Yes. That’s right. It’s—

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when Admiral Adams speaks to him.

This is difficult for Michel and understandably so. Admiral Adams keeps his voice low so they aren’t overheard. But perhaps if we can make a deal to exile the brats out of the Indies, it would be best for everyone. The Delacroix boy is dangerous in more ways than one, and it’s going to take work to spare his life. There are plenty of men in power who want him dead nearly as much as they want Danso dead. Leaving might even be best for Michel himself.

Sweat breaks out along Jerome’s hairline. A deal. They’re going to make a deal. René won’t be dead. He shouldn’t care if René is dead, but Michel cares. Michel cares.

He’s never thought about Michel leaving Jamaica.

Sir? Jerome asks, struggling to compose himself.

He’s an excellent sailor and an irreplaceable captain, don’t mistake me, Admiral Adams continues. And it can only end well for me if he and his father-in-law owe me a favor. But I think Michel’s rather past his glory days. Besides, if he retired, it might be time to, say, give you a second ship of your own to go up against the pirate threat. Especially while we search for a suitable East India replacement for Michel.

Oh. Jerome sifts through the words, remembering Captain Langley’s long-ago proclamation that he would never be anyone important. Now, he finds he doesn’t want to be quite so important that he pushes out his mentor. I’m honored you would even consider that, sir.

He is and he isn’t. The idea of Michel leaving is unbearable. Michel’s the family he has when it comes down to it.

It would be a great error to disregard the loyalty you’ve shown to the Royal Navy, and your talent generally. Admiral Adams’ gaze flits back over to Michel, who closes the doors to both carriages himself. "I’m trusting you to assist with the discretion of this matter while we figure it all out. You know the Delacroix family better than anyone else, and it is nearly inevitable that word will eventually get out that Lucifer the Morning Star is the son of one of the most powerful men in the Caribbean, not to mention the grandson of the former governor and part of the English and French nobility. It only adds to the heroic folktales the pirates like to cultivate. If they can get a young man like that to join them, then who can’t they get? And I need that managed, you see. I need you to make sure Michel doesn’t make any ... rash decisions. He has put a great deal of his time into capturing pirates and is superb at the job. But he can be soft, sometimes. You influence him more than any other since Arthur Seymour died, and I need you to continue doing so."

Admiral Adams pats Jerome on the back, his words hanging thick in the air. Something about the possessive way his superior grasped his shoulder reminds Jerome of his father and the way he assured him that he would be a thief. Admiral Adams and Michel finalize plans for the guard, and Michel gestures at Jerome to follow him into the carriage where René waits.

I’m sure the two of you are pleased with yourselves. René is immediately aggressive, though the way he rubs at his temples lessens the impact. He used to get bad headaches brought on by stress.

Not that Jerome cares. He doesn’t.

René, Michel warns.

What? René bunches a section of his red coat in his hand like he might be finding comfort in the garment. Am I not pliant enough for you? My apologies.

You’re upsetting yourself, Michel says, his tone far less angry than Jerome expected.

Don’t condescend to me, René retorts. It didn’t work when I was a child, and it won’t work now.

I am not condescending to you. Michel’s slow with his words, and confusion flickers across René’s face. I am asking for you to calm down for your own sake. Keep your temper under control. I know those officers insulted your mother the other day, but your outburst on the ship was very troubling. And your behavior with Brown on Tortola was as well.

René grasps at the knees of his trousers. I don’t see you chiding Jerome about his outburst when he put his cutlass to my neck on Tortola.

Please, Jerome cuts in, feeling childish, but he can’t stamp out the urge. You’re just angry I outwitted you.

You can do whatever you like and still win his approval. René jabs his finger in his father’s direction while still looking at Jerome. I see that hasn’t changed. You’ve always been a back-biter when it comes to me. For all I know, you told a thousand lies about me before I left just because you were angry I wasn’t a good little boy anymore like you.

Why, you absolute—

Stop! Michel raises his voice, his expression severe and sharp. René, you will not taunt Nicholas. Nicholas, you need to lead by example and keep your temper. You were brothers, once, and I’ve had enough of your bickering.

Michel looks at Jerome first and raises his eyebrows.

My apologies, Michel, Jerome finally says, chastised and a touch irritated, but he keeps that at bay.

René doesn’t answer, and he shifts so he can see out the window. Despite his obvious exhaustion, there’s still a soft light in his eyes that Jerome remembers from the early days. Jerome’s stomach churns with something he might call guilt if it were reasonable to do so. It isn’t. He has no damned reason to feel guilty at all.

René chose to be a pirate.

René murdered and stole and spit on everything he ever had.

And Jerome tells himself, over and over again as they ride toward the house, that he doesn’t care what René thinks of him.

He doesn’t.

Chapter 4

The Delacroix home.

Astra spots the carriages out the window of her bedroom. The note Michel sent, vague as it was, sits crumpled in her fist.

We found René, Frantz, and Auden on Tortola. Nicholas and I are bringing them to the house now. I will explain it all when I see you.

Yours,

Michel

There’s another letter resting on her reading chair. It was delivered this morning hours before the note.

The return address was in New York.

Astra,

I have come to visit New York City with my brother and his wife for the next six months. I was wondering, hoping, that it might be possible for you to visit. I understand it’s unlikely you could come without Michel, but that’s all right. Perhaps he might need some time away from his pursuits? Your father, I understand, will be a problem, but I couldn’t be on this side of the world and not tell you. Write me here regardless. I long to hear from you.

My love,

Imogen

Imogen in New York. René in Jamaica.

Is it them, ma’am? Molly asks, appearing in the doorway and drawing Astra from her thoughts. She fell ill a few weeks ago, and her cough still lingers. Astra’s half considered sending her to an inn with Peter for fear this will stress her further, but Molly’s been adamant about staying.

Yes. Astra’s voice threatens to shake, but she mustn’t allow that. Not now. Yes, I think so. She wipes her sweaty hand on her skirts. I should go downstairs.

Molly follows her out into the hallway where they find Peter.

We’ll go with you, Peter says. Mrs. Hudson is there already, though Pauline’s out at the market.

Astra nods. Sometimes she wonders if the servants have an inkling about the hand she played in the boys running away. If they do, they don’t seem to blame her. The stairs are the only thing between her and that front door. Between her and her boy. She is, frankly, annoyed at their existence.

René.

René.

René.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

She’s dreamt of Nassau every night since Michel and Jerome left for Tortola. And every night, the ocean rushes up toward wild shores as she steps onto the sand. A golden cage stands behind her. A glowing pirate ship made of stars glitters above her head.

What does my name mean, Mama? five-year-old Astra asked one day.

It means of the stars my dear, her mother answered. The night you were born, I saw a shooting star out my window.

She thinks of the stacks of newspapers she keeps hidden in a locked chest in her armoire. Stories about England losing control of Nassau. Stories of more and more pirates spilling into the West Indies and clogging up trade—first just a nuisance and then a real threat. Stories about Danso and Abeni and then stories about her very own son. She’s been a part of that story since the beginning, but it’s always been a secret.  It’s never been whispered by sailors. It’s never been known at all, because it couldn’t be.

Her secrets are crumbling now. She knows they are.

It’s just a matter of how they will finally come undone. It’s just a matter of when she decides to let them go.

And it will be her decision.

The front door opens. Astra’s heart smashes against her chest.

She rushes to the middle of the entrance hall, freezing when Michel and René appear. Michel holds their son by the collar of his coat, and Astra is about to snap let go of him, but when René meets her eye, the world screeches to a halt.

He’s smiling at her.

René, she says softly, and with her entire heart.

René shifts—trying to get Michel to release him, no doubt—which draws Astra’s attention to the manacles around her son’s wrists and ankles. Incoherent anger stirs up from the pit of her stomach. Every sound rings louder than normal. The chiming of the grandfather clock. The servants’ breathing. The snorting of the horses in the drive. Even the pounding of her own heart. Everything is immediate and sharp and real, more so than it has since that fateful night when she let René go.

Everything has color again.

"Michel how could you? She almost shouts the words before controlling herself. How dare you?

Astra, Michel says, already annoyed. It's for his own protection as well as ours. I cannot be seen leading a pirate around unchained.

Undo them, Astra demands. Undo them this instant.

Astra, Michel tries again, I know you’re upset, but you cannot order me about.

Michel’s rarely like this with her, and now that he’s choosing to be domineering, it makes Astra furious.

Astra steps closer and